


Tribulations of the Messenger Angel

by nightwish435



Series: Sanctuary of Mythical Hope: The Legacy of Azarath [1]
Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series), Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Azarath, Azarath is Silent Hill, Childhood Trauma, Cults, Discrimination, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, PTSD, Past Rape/Non-con, Religion, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwish435/pseuds/nightwish435
Summary: Angela Roth, the woman who would be renamed “Arella” (Messenger Angel in the language of Azarath) by the 3rd Azar, fled to the sacred city in hope of a new life for herself and her child. But as she, Azar and Raven herself would all too tragically come to know, not even Azarath was safe from the hatred pervading Earth, and the insidious machinations of the Church of Blood.
Series: Sanctuary of Mythical Hope: The Legacy of Azarath [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599613





	Tribulations of the Messenger Angel

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prequel I've been aching to write for my fanfic "Gone to the Place of Foggy Dreams"! Thank you all for reading this, and please give me whatever feedback you have to offer, especially if you've also read part 2.
> 
> As a Trigger Warning, I'd like to address why I've categorized this story under "Rape/Non-con". As some of you might know regarding Arella's story, she was tricked into bedding with Trigon, a demonic abomination, betraying her trust and desire for companionship. While this isn't meant to be the focus of this fic, it will be referenced a few times, and I wanted to give you all a fair heads up here beforehand.
> 
> Finally, on a random musical note, if I had to pick a theme song for this fic, it would gladly be "Ashes" by Celine Dion.

Angela Roth fled into the night, clinging her thin jacket to her body and weeping bitterly as she ran from her supposed sanctuary.

_“Monster!”_ Angela thought, terror and shame roiling within her. _“You lied to me! You, and that bastard ‘Brother Blood’!”_

When Brother Blood and his acolytes had received Angela’s consent to their “Bride of Satan” ritual, they performed the conjuration in the sanctuary of their hovel. The handsome man that appeared amidst the smoke and fire gave no indication of malicious intent, and took her to her quarters with seemingly gentle intent. But it was at the moment of consummation that her would-be mate had transformed into that hideous, horned abomination, leering over her and reveling in her horror.

_“’Trigon’. That’s the name of that…fiend! Why did I let myself fall for the lie that he’d make me his ‘willing bride’?! And why would that man use me like this?!”_

Angela clutched her stomach and shuddered as she ran, recognizing at last what the Church’s true plan had been from the moment they’d set eyes on her.

_“They wanted me to bear that demon’s child, didn’t they?”_

* * *

“You idiots!” Brother Blood shrieked, spittle flying everywhere in his deranged fury. “You let our pawn escape, and with her, the Master’s child!”

The Blood Acolytes trembled before him, sheepishly avoiding eye contact as he ranted at them. One of them tentatively glanced up at their leader and tried to offer calming words.

“But sir, he let her escape!” the man calmly retorted. “Surely then, it was his will to let her run away?”

Brother Blood paused to give the acolyte a considering look, and replied, “…indeed. Yes, you may very well be right.”

He turned to the small window in the building’s dank main room, and glared over the descending darkness over the horizon. The thousands of lights within New York City glimmered, no doubt acting as beacons for Angela Roth in her desperation.

“His mark upon her will stain her in the eyes of all who meet her, and nothing she says will be able to dissuade them from accepting her into their homes. Angela Roth is now cursed to be our Master’s child-bearer, and no matter how hard she may try, her fate is forever sealed. No matter what, she **will** give birth to Trigon’s child, the harbinger of his grand conquest, the herald of this wretched world’s destruction!”

* * *

Everywhere around her, the people within the massive city reviled Angela, exhausted and desperate for shelter. No matter who she turned to on the outskirts of New York City, the 18-year old girl was shunned for unwillingly bearing the intangible mark of Trigon’s evil.

“Demon-tainted slut!” one churchwoman screamed at her after answering the door of a massive stone church. “Stay away from this holy place, and never return!”

The wretched woman slammed the bronze door in her face, and Angela stumbled back onto the sidewalk, bitterly fighting against her tears. Any hope she’d had for basic human compassion after being absolutely violated at the hands of Brother Blood’s machinations had all but disappeared.

_“It wasn’t my fault!_ ” she silently pleaded, clutching at her sides as hunger continued to gnaw. _“I was tricked! All I wanted was to feel a sense of belonging, and now…even that’s been taken away from me._ ”

Angela paused to look up at the blackened sky, the stars blotted out by the sea of artificial light below them. Out of sheer desperation, she lifted up a silent plea for somebody, anybody to help her and her growing child.

_“Please, please, help me! Help me keep this child safe!”_

On the wind, Angela heard the sound of a bird’s wings rustling. Down the street came a white dove out of nowhere, standing in stark contrast with the darkened street. Angela watched it alight another block away, perched on top of a statue. With nowhere else to go, she tentatively followed.

The dove watched her expectantly as it remained poised on a stone statue of a monk petting both a wolf and a doe at the same time. Angela glanced at the plague at its base, reading the identity of the man before her.

_“St. Francis of Assisi_

_Founder of the Franciscan Order, and Patron Saint of Animals.”_

Angela looked back up at the dove, who bowed its head patiently at her. Behind it was a far more modest church, the “Franciscan Brotherhood of New York” according to the sign standing on the other side of the yard. Angela took a deep breath, and went up to the door, hoping that she’d finally found some luck in the compassion department.

A minute later, an elderly Franciscan monk in a brown robe opened the door and glared at her reproachfully. Angela gritted her teeth and knelt before him, determined to get help no matter how humiliating it might feel in the moment.

“Please, sir,” she pleaded. “I’m carrying a child in my womb, and I don’t have anywhere to go. Is there any way that I can find rest and shelter here?”

Just as she suspected, the haughty man scoffed at her and snapped, “Begone from my sight, wench! You reek with the taint of utmost evil, and I refuse to have your filth taint my halls.”

“Of course not,” Angela retorted spitefully, provoking a gasp from the man.

She rose to her feet and glared up at the wrinkled face before her, snarling, “I’ve wasted my time and tears all night long going up and down the streets of New York City, begging desperately at the doors of every church in sight for the barest bits of compassion, but for what? For some ‘holier-than-thou’ scumbag to tell me that I’m ‘demon-infested’ after what I’ve suffered? You disgust me, ‘Father’ and if you’re trying to act as the ambassador of God, you’re doing a pathetic job!”

“You dare?!” he screamed, his face rapidly turning red in indignation.

“Yes, I dare, you piece of shit!” Arella screamed back, watching numerous onlookers on all sides of the street watching them in alarm. “You’re hypocrites, all of you! Do you have any idea how ridiculous you all look, turning away an unwed mother desperate for shelter?”

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to the Holy Mother, you vile-”

“What on Earth is going on here, Father Leonard?”

Angela and the Father paused awkwardly as a middle-aged Franciscan emerged in the hall, sheepishly holding a candle and watching them carefully. Father Leonard stood tall and huffed in annoyance as he gestured at Angela.

“This wretch is wasting my time in the late hours of the night, Brother Michael!” he snarled. “Kindly remove her from our doorstep before I lose my temper any further!”

With that, he turned and stormed away into the inner chambers of the building, leaving an extremely confused Brother Michael to grimace at Angela. She remained standing before the entrance, crestfallen and doing all she could to not break down sobbing once again.

He calmly approached her once his leader was out of sight, knelt before her and tenderly said to her, “I am so, so sorry for how Father Leonard and all the others have treated you, child. You didn’t deserve any of that…just as you didn’t deserve the horrific crime perpetuated against you.”

Angela gasped and went rigid with shock, alarmed to hear somebody else finally see the truth of her situation. Brother Michael placed a large, gentle hand on her shoulder and continued to speak to her.

“It’s written all over you what happened to you, and why you’ve been going to the doors of this city’s churches begging for help. You were lied to, and abused in so many ways, put through hellish wringers after your trust was taken advantage of. I know that there are no words of mine that can truly offer you the healing you need, but nonetheless, I want you to know that my heart breaks for what you’ve suffered.”

At last, Angela Roth broke down, collapsing to her knees as the full weight of her trauma hit her like a truck. Brother Michael bent forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace, holding her quietly as her body heaved with the force of her sorrow. In silence they remained, the Franciscan monk temporarily shielding her from the malice of the world.

He somberly told her, “Father Leonard is indeed a hypocrite, child. Surely he remembers the words of God, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice’. He forgets that the founder of our order, Saint Francis himself, was a diplomat who gladly befriended with those others treated with distrust, such as the Sultan of Egypt in the middle of the misguided Crusades. For him to treat you, a victim, with such vitriol is unacceptable. I will be begging the Lord for mercy on us all tonight after our leader and all the others in this city were so inhospitable towards you.”

“Thank you,” Angela whispered back weakly, exhausted but relieved to finally find a bit of warmth.

Brother Michael carefully helped her rise, and told her, “While Father Leonard won’t let me grant you shelter here, he can’t stop me from finding other ways to help you. There is a park nearby, with benches surrounded by trees that guard against rainfall. While it’s not the best resting place, I’d recommend it over any other immediate option. Stay here, child, and let me get you some things.”

Angela watched him quickly shuffle away into the recesses of his home, awestruck and uplifted at the monk’s willingness to help her. Out of the dozens of Christians who’d answered her pleas for help, only Brother Michael had been willing in the end to help her. And no matter how cruelly they had treated her, not all their malice combined was enough to diminish the power of the compassion he’d shown her.

He returned after a brief minute, carrying with him a thin brown blanket, a paper sack of food and a single $20 bill. When he offered them to Angela, she took them quietly, amazed at the positive turn of events. It was clear to her that the dove had been a harbinger of Brother Michael’s compassion.

“Before you go, child,” Brother Michael gently said to her, “what is your name?”

“Angela,” she answered, finally letting herself smile after the horror of the previous 24 hours. “Angela Roth.”

“Angela, go take a long rest under the trees in the park tonight. Keep the blanket and money, and don’t be afraid to come back here if you need any other help. Go in peace, child. May the Lord watch over you tonight, and all nights.”

“Thank you so much, Brother Michael,” Angela answered, beaming up at him and turning to go. “And peace be with you as well.”

When she walked away, carrying his gifts in her arms, the park appeared in sight after just a few minutes of walking. Sure enough, Angela spotted a metal bench situated under a grove of trees, their foliage creating a makeshift ceiling. Angela laid her weary body down, stretching the blanket over herself and placing the other gifts in the crook of her arm.

Angela gazed up at the sky wistfully, grateful for the kindness that Brother Michael had shown her when all others had turned her away. Exhaustion finally crept up on her, and her weary eyes slowly closed as she succumbed to the need for sleep.

Just as unconsciousness washed over her, Angela saw a brilliant twelve-pointed star materialize in the dark sky above her, radiant amidst the sea of darkness.


End file.
